Wish Fulfillment
by wazlib88
Summary: Or, Ron and Hermione write fanfiction. A few almost-kisses, a few what-ifs. And more than a few real kisses, and of course, what-is.


_Or, Ron and Hermione write fanfiction._

 _(This may or may not have begun as a response to some regrettable comments from JKR in 2014.)_  
 _So, this is my first fic posted in...awhile. Most of it was written about 2 years ago. A bunch of it was written tonight under the influence of wine. I just wanted to participate in Romione ship week on Tumblr. I hope you all enjoy. THANK YOU, for keeping the magic alive._

It had been an exceptionally long day - in as much as the relative length of a standard period of time could vary from one to the next, anyway. By the time Hermione had left the office, the weight of the hours she'd spent there rested so heavily on her frame that her smile when her assistant bid "Mrs. Weasley" farewell was almost perfunctory. Even the swooping sensation she felt in her stomach when she was called by her married name, something she still wasn't used to almost two months later, seemed to have been quelled by the sheer exhaustion of a day filled with unnecessary paperwork and meetings with the pig-headed lot of old men the Ministry called its senior officials.

Thankfully, Ron seemed to sense that she was in a bit of a mood, and he offered to prepare her a hot dinner without a single complaint as she wandered through their flat, absentmindedly putting things away and muttering strings of what were very nearly obscenities under her breath.

They sat down to a quiet dinner, neither one particularly inclined to air the grievances they'd collected throughout the day. Sometimes, it was easier to simply _be_ for awhile, and to be comfortably silent with one other had been a great source of comfort to Hermione over the years. Something about merely being in Ron's presence was more than enough to warm her insides and wrap her up in something that was at once smaller and much, much bigger than the world around them.

Which is why, of course, she was a bit shocked when Ron interrupted the quiet by clearing his throat and asking, "Whaddya reckon would have happened if you hadn't gone to the ball with Krum?"

Hermione nearly dropped her fork. "Excuse me?"

"Y'know, what could have happened if me or Harry had asked you first," Ron clarified, as though that explained everything.

"Well, that wouldn't have happened," Hermione replied carefully, "considering the two of you didn't even think to ask me until weeks after the ball was announced."

"Oh, I _thought_ of it nearly straight away," Ron admitted, shrugging. "It's not like I was going to admit to myself that I fancied you, mind, but I wasn't exactly put off by the idea of taking you."

"How romantic," Hermione remarked dryly.

"So whaddya reckon?" Ron repeated as he chewed the last bite of his chicken and pushed his plate away. "D'you think we could've got it together sooner?"

"Maybe," Hermione allowed. "Why does it matter? Clearly it all turned out for the best," she pointed out, nodding from her left hand to his.

"Well, yeah, but think about it," Ron insisted, widening his eyes to indicate his sincerity.

"It's a rather big 'what if,'" Hermione replied dubiously, "but clearly _you've_ thought about it, so I'm going to hear you out."

Ron grinned with satisfaction. "Marriage is fantastic."

"Just get on with it before the honeymoon's over," Hermione teased.

"Okay," he began. "So imagine, right, me or Harry asks you to the ball. It doesn't really matter which one of us does it; it's just as friends. Preferably you'd have gone with me, obviously, and maybe we'd have had an awkward dance or two - y'know, the kind where you stand about a foot and a half apart and barely touch each other - but nothing would have happened, 'cause I was still too much of an idiot to realize what was right in front of me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, fair enough, but wouldn't things have been awkward if we'd danced?"

Ron shrugged. "No more awkward than you screaming at me about last resorts and such across the common room after I accused your date of using you to get to Harry, is it?"

Hermione winced. "We really have had our moments."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, smiling again. "Yeah, quite brilliant, really. Anyway, I figure something like that might have gotten me round to thinking about you like that a bit quicker. Not a lot quicker, mind you, but I s'pose I was already thinking about snogging you the summer after."

"But you weren't thinking particularly hard about it, were you?" Hermione pointed out.

"You were my best friend!" Ron said defensively. "Bit confusing, wasn't it? And besides, the bigger half of me still believed you had something going on with Krum."

"You can't have a bigger half," Hermione scolded, smirking.

"Would you let me tell my story?"

"Your story that never actually happened?" Hermione replied, though she couldn't deny her curiosity was piqued. She crossed her arms and leaned against the back of her chair. "Tell away."

"Good, 'cause I spent most of the day thinking about it."

"I won't even remind you that you're supposed to be protecting the wizarding world."

Ron shrugged. "It was a slow day. So anyway, you didn't go to the ball with Krum, I've admitted to myself that I wanna snog you, and it's Christmas of our fifth year."

"Why Christmas?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"Why _not_ Christmas?" Ron retorted. "It's romantic as hell, alright? Now let me tell the story."

"Sorry." Hermione raised her hands innocently and gestured for him to continue. Ron took a grand, dramatic breath as he began to weave his tale.

 _-000-_

Ron hadn't been able to sleep properly in days. Granted, neither had Harry, but neither one of them was really up for talking about it. Harry hadn't particularly wanted to talk about anything since the night he'd seen Ron's dad…well, that was what neither of them wanted to talk about or think about, so Ron put it to the back of his mind yet again.

On this night in particular, Harry had managed to fall into a fitful sleep about an hour after Ron's mum had sent them to bed, and that had only caused Ron to toss and turn more even more frequently than usual. It was one thing for Harry to mention having a bad dream here or there, but watching his best mate have nightmares was something else entirely, especially in the wake of all that had transpired in the past week.

When enough time had passed that Ron was sure the kitchen would be empty for the night, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs, taking care to move with as little noise as possible so as not to disturb anybody. If Sirius' mum were to hear him, nobody would be sleeping for quite awhile. But when he reached the kitchen, he found that it was not empty at all.

"Hermione," Ron said in surprise. "What're you doing up?"

She gasped as she turned around to face him. "Oh, sorry Ron, you gave me a fright. I didn't think anybody else would still be awake."

"Yeah, that's what I was saying," he replied, gesturing awkwardly toward the empty chairs littering the room. "I just thought I'd make some tea before bed."

"Great minds think alike, I suppose," Hermione remarked, her voice just a little too cheery to be natural. "I think I've made a bit much; I'll pour you a cup."

"Thanks," Ron said, dropping into one of the chairs and propping his head up with one arm. "You're a lifesaver, y'know."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she served him his cup of tea and sat delicately in the seat next to him, drawing her thin purple dressing gown closer to her form in what Ron guessed was an attempt to stay warm in the drafty kitchen. He tried to arrange his face so it didn't look like he was preoccupied with the faint outline of Hermione-boob he could see from his current position. That was decidedly outside of the "best friend" territory he was carefully treading in. Eyes. Focus on her eyes, he told himself. Eye contact was good - safer, at least.

"I'm so glad your dad's doing better," Hermione said after she took a sip from her cup, breaking the rather tense silence between them. "I was so worried when I heard."

Leave it to Hermione to bring up the one thing he'd been lying awake to avoid. "Yeah," he said noncommittally. "Yeah, it was good of you to come, by the way."

"Of course," Hermione replied, shifting stiffly in her seat. "Why wouldn't I come?"

"Doing that ski-thing with your parents would have been more fun," Ron said. "As mad as it all sounds, I reckon it'd be better than sitting around here with a bigoted house elf and our arsehole of a best mate."

"Kreacher can't help it," Hermione said sharply, "and neither can Harry, I imagine."

Ron couldn't help but laugh. "He's got a bit of a complex, doesn't he?"

"Well, can you blame him?" Hermione pointed out. "It's just that he closes himself off, you know? And if he won't even tell _us_ -"

"S'not like we wouldn't get it," Ron interjected. "It's _my_ dad, right?"

"True." Hermione shifted again and drew her dressing gown even closer. It would have been better for everyone, Ron thought, if she'd just worn her green one, which was significantly fuzzier and didn't cling to her skin in ways that drove him half mad. "I understand he's not exactly _used_ to open communication, but it's like you said, we would understand."

"Just don't push him," Ron warned. "That doesn't do anything."

"I have a theory," Hermione said thoughtfully, "that you only say that because you don't like talking about it, either."

Now it was Ron's turn to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. "I prefer subtlety, I guess."

Hermione snorted. "Since when have you _ever_ been subtle?"

Ron shrugged. She had a point; his last attempt at subtlety had been that damned perfume, and he had yet to figure out whether "different" meant she liked or hated it. He'd tried really hard to pick out something that wasn't too girly, but that wasn't boring, either. He'd wanted something that suited her, but maybe he'd missed the mark. Maybe she hadn't understood.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, cutting through the slow, winding trek of his thoughts, "I'd rather be here than skiing."

"Really?" Ron asked, the corners of his mouth perking up without his permission.

"Well, skiing, absolutely," Hermione amended. "It's just my parents that I miss."

"You could have seen them for awhile," Ron blurted, his ears burning as he spoke. "If you wanted to, I mean."

"Oh," Hermione said, hunching her shoulders slightly as she took another sip. "Well, I didn't know. I thought…" she trailed off, tracing the brim of her cup with her finger.

"I just mean that you shouldn't feel like you _have_ to be here," Ron said desperately, willing her to understand what he couldn't muster the courage to say out loud.

"Well, I know I don't _have_ to," Hermione said briskly, training her eyes on the table in front of her. Ron followed her lead, focusing on his now nearly empty cup of tea. "But I suppose…well, I _want_ to."

"Good," Ron said, a little too quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "I mean, you're always welcome here. Well, maybe not in this house, but with…with all of us, y'know?"

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said softly, and he felt himself relax a little. Maybe she could read him better than he thought she could.

"So," he said, a little louder than necessary, "is the tea doing its job for you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose. It's just not that easy to fall asleep lately."

Ron nodded in understanding. "We could go to the sitting room upstairs," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain had deciphered their meaning. His backtracking instinct kicked in almost immediately: "Just, y'know, if we're both going to be up awhile. No point in sitting down here; it's bloody freezing."

"Language," Hermione said, the reprimand almost a reflex now. "The sofa would be more comfortable than these chairs, that's for sure."

"It's like the Blacks wanted _everything_ about the place to be dark and cold. Y'know, to uphold their reputation and all," Ron remarked, springing to his feet and bringing their cups to the sink. He figured his mum would wash them in the morning, as neither of them could do it with magic.

"It is vaguely unpleasant, isn't it?" Hermione agreed, offering a small smile as he led the way out of the cellar-like kitchen and toward the slightly more inviting space upstairs. They set up a chess board on the coffee table, and he insisted she take the sofa while he sat on the floor. He won the first game handily, of course, even considering the distraction his opponent was proving to be. But then, about halfway through the second game, she turned the tables on him again - something she'd been doing quite a bit of late, intentionally or not.

"Do you ever…" she trailed off, biting her lip in a way that somehow managed to push the boundaries of his self-control even further. "Do you ever think that maybe Harry's right to think that we wouldn't understand?"

Ron frowned, rewinding to the conversation he'd hoped they'd been finished with an hour before. "How do you mean?"

"I mean that I think I know where he's coming from." Her voice was very small as she pushed one of her pieces forward, but Ron had no particular interest in the game anymore.

"You know why he doesn't want to tell us anything?"

"I don't…well, it's all very complicated, isn't it?"

"Well, no shite." Ron raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain herself further.

"Do…do you ever get scared?" Hermione's voice was little more than a whisper now, and she wouldn't quite look him in the eye. "About…everything?"

"'Course I do," Ron admitted readily. "I think we're all a bit, aren't we? Even the ones in the Order."

"Especially the ones in the Order," Hermione amended darkly. "They must know things we wouldn't even want to think about."

"Did you have a point?" Ron asked, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"I can't tell Harry." She patted her hair nervously and eyed the door, as if expecting their best friend to burst in at any minute. "How could I tell him that it all terrifies me, you know? Then he'll be sure not to tell us a thing, and we're supposed to be there for him."

Ron nodded. "And he'll keep sitting around acting like it's his own personal burden."

"So we wouldn't want to make it any worse." They shared a sad smile, enough to give Ron the courage to move to sit next to her on the sofa.

"Bit stupid, isn't it?" he asked her, trying not to let his nerves show when her arm brushed against his as she shifted to make room for him. "If we're trying to keep him from worrying about us, but he's trying to keep us from knowing what's going on with him."

"An endless cycle if I ever saw one," Hermione remarked with a sigh. "But you and I…we can talk, can't we?"

"If I didn't know any better…" Ron smirked, gesturing between them.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Friends are supposed to talk about this sort of thing, but with Harry…well, I can only talk about this sort of thing with you, because he's got an entirely different set of…everything, I guess."

Ron nodded again. As much as he enjoyed the time alone with Hermione, especially in recent months, it felt a bit wrong to have to tiptoe around Harry. It had always been the three of them; that was their constant. Because even when things were weird between him and Harry, or even when he wished he and Hermione could start nudging toward the "more" side of the friendship scale, he knew that in the end, the three of them would be the same as they ever were. It wasn't an answer they could find in one of their textbooks. It was never even a question.

So, he turned to Hermione and said, "We'll be alright, yeah? No matter what happens, we'll be alright."

Her eyes met his as she nodded succinctly, and Ron gulped audibly, but held her gaze. Not that it helped much, mind - when had she gotten so… _pretty_?

"I don't know why we argue so much," she murmured with a wry smile. "We get on quite well, when you aren't whinging about your rat."

"I thought we'd agreed not to bring that up again," Ron groaned, even now cringing at the thought of what - or rather, who - Scabbers had turned out to be.

"Sorry," Hermione replied noncommittally. "It's just sort of silly, isn't it, how we wind each other up?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I quite like it sometimes, to be honest. It's…you're…"

Hermione's breath caught, and Ron noticed just how close their faces had become. Bloody hell. "You're…" he trailed off, dropping his eyes from hers and sighing, disappointed with himself. What was he supposed to say, anyway? That he liked the way she would focus her attention on him when they had their… _discussions_? That the way she would huff, flushing with frustration as they walked briskly through the halls on patrols, was so attractive he considered it a good day when he elicited it? That she was maddening and his best friend and brilliant and a little insane and _definitely_ a girl and he thought about her all the time and…

"Ron?" Her hand landed tentatively on his shoulder. "Are you alright? You're a bit…flushed."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm…" He chanced a glance back to her, and that was the end of it all. _Fuck it_ , he thought, closing the gap between them swiftly and pressing his lips against hers.

She gasped against his lips, and he was about to pull back, dejected, when her tiny hands landed in his hair and tugged him closer. Her lips did the pressing then, and then maybe they both did, and he couldn't tell left from right anyway because he was _kissing_ _Hermione_. And her hands were still in his hair, and his were on her waist, and the way they were twisted to face each other on the sofa wasn't comfortable by any means, but he would never _dream_ of stopping because this was it. His first kiss with Hermione. He didn't have a clue what he was doing, but her warm lips against his own felt too good for him to care.

He supposed it must have been over in a matter of seconds, though he couldn't be entirely sure. But she was breathing raggedly when they finally broke apart, and her cheeks were flushed in _that_ way.

"S-sorry." Ron's voice was hoarse, and a bit deeper than it had ever been. He reckoned he needed to kiss her more often. "Um…I don't know if that was…"

"Okay?" Hermione guessed. Her voice was higher than usual; funny how those things worked. "Yes! I mean, yes, it was…"

"Brilliant!" He could feel the heat radiating from his face, but the silly grins they exchanged made it worth it.

"Right! Well, we should probably…" Hermione gestured vaguely toward the door. If he was thinking clearly, he might have registered that she was less coherent than he'd ever seen her.

"Right! Right, it's pretty late," he offered, practically leaping up and clearing the chess board in record time before turning back to face her, still sitting wide-eyed on the sofa.

"Here," he said, thrusting a hand toward her. Sensing what he was trying to do, she took it and let him help her up.

"Ron," she said softly, squeezing his hand in her own and stepping closer.

"Yeah?" He could hardly breathe as she used her free hand to brush a stray curl away from her face. Would she ever forgive him if he jumped her twice in as many minutes?

"Um, I…" But he needn't have worried, because for once, Hermione didn't seem to have any words at her disposal. Instead, she leaned forward on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. He'd barely registered that it had happened before she'd already stepped away, squeezing his hand once again before letting go. "I quite like _you_ ," she said meaningfully, her voice clear even as her blush grew impossibly darker.

"Yeah." Ron couldn't help but grin, a smile which grew wider as she laughed quietly. "Yeah. I…yeah."

"Okay." They stood there smiling dumbly at one another for a couple minutes longer, but a bit of awkward stammering later, Ron had somehow managed to bid her "good night" in what he was pretty sure was English. So he wound up back where he had started, unable to sleep in his own bed…but the events in between had made all the difference.

 _-000-_

"Ron, that was terrible," Hermione declared as he leaned back in his chair with satisfaction.

"How so?" he challenged, undeterred for the moment by her criticism.

"Would you really have had the guts to kiss me when you were fifteen?"

"I wanted to, didn't I?"

"Well, I _wanted_ to as well, but I never would have done it!" Hermione pointed out. "It was all so confusing back then, with all those hormones and _feelings_ -"

"But remember, in this story you never went out with Krum!" Ron insisted, gesturing wildly. "So the whole game's changed, hasn't it?"

"So _one_ date and a quasi-relationship with some Bulgarian man I've seen twice since was enough to put you off from pursuing me, is that what I'm meant to believe?"

"In a word, yeah."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That's completely mad."

"I never said it wasn't," Ron replied.

"The whole story's just a bit unbelievable," she continued. "You told it well, of course, but would we _really_ -"

"We had a version of that conversation, didn't we?"

"Well, yes, but I don't recall being in the mood to snog afterward."

"I was _always_ in the mood to snog," Ron declared.

"That much hasn't changed," Hermione admitted with a chuckle. "I still maintain that Viktor or no Viktor, it wouldn't have happened like you just said."

"Alright," Ron said, a dangerously mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Alright, you tell a better one, if you're so clever!"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, crossing her arms in defiance. "Alright, I will!"

"Good! So what's your premise?" Ron asked as he crossed to their refrigerator, an appliance Hermione had insisted upon, fishing out a tub of ice cream from the freezer and two spoons from the silverware drawer.

"It's sixth year. We can go by your rules, however ridiculous they may be, just so all's fair, and we'll say I never went out with Viktor."

"You don't have to go by my rules," Ron interjected. "It's not a contest."

Hermione shot him a withering stare that made it clear he should know better. "So I've never gone out with Viktor, but obviously I admitted to myself that I fancied you sometime around third year, as I was _not_ emotionally immature and unreasonably adverse to feelings-"

"Get on with it, will you?" Ron requested.

"So it's after the first match of the Quidditch season-"

"But that's when-"

"I _know_." Hermione fixed him with another glare. "Are you going to let me speak?"

"Not fun to be the one who's interrupted, is it?" Ron pointed out.

"I'm sorry," Hermione replied, patting his hand in a way he could tell was genuine. "Now may I please go on?"

"Be my guest."

"So we got in that argument after the match, didn't we? About the Felix Felicis?"

"Well, yeah, but I was already peeved with you about the whole Krum situation," Ron admitted bashfully, still a bit embarrassed by his behavior even seven years later.

"Yes, well, I think you'd still have got a bit annoyed about the Felix on its own, don't you?" Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I was rather rude in the way I went about it."

Ron couldn't help but snicker. "We were both a bit clueless back then, weren't we?"

"I'd say so," Hermione agreed. "Which is why I think you'll agree the way _I_ go about this is going to make much more sense, given the people we were at the time."

"The floor is yours," Ron replied sagely. Hermione cleared her throat once and began to tell _her_ story.

 _-000-_

The common room was a mess of activity. How her fellow Gryffindors could manage to pull together a party at only a moment's notice, Hermione would never know. What she _did_ know was that even as a prefect, she was virtually powerless to stop their behavior. All she could do was remain on hand to make sure things were under control.

Not to mention her fellow sixth year prefect was at the heart of the festivities, having taken a shot of firewhiskey almost immediately upon entering the room.

She was fairly certain he'd switched to butterbeer afterward, though she supposed it didn't matter much. He was still having the time of his life, reenacting his brilliant game for everyone that would listen, while she was stuck on the sofa wishing someone would turn the music down. Sometimes she could _feel_ herself being the opposite of fun, but she simply couldn't bring herself to enjoy the raucous festivities. At least, not with things the way they were between her and Ron.

She couldn't really blame him for being a bit angry; she _had_ made it sound as though she didn't believe he could have done as well without the potion. But that wasn't how she meant it; honestly, it wasn't. But she'd _seen_ Harry that morning, and she'd thought - well, she didn't know what she'd thought, but now it had all gone south faster than a wizard could apparate to Aruba in the middle of January.

She'd always believed Ron had it in him to be a fantastic Quidditch player. She'd seen him at the Burrow over the summer; even with her limited knowledge of the game, she knew that he was actually quite good, and that it was just the nerves that prevented him from performing as well at school. She simply didn't know how to tell him as much - or rather, she didn't trust herself to do so without meandering dangerously close to… _other_ topics.

And those were topics she dared not bring up to _anybody_ , because she just knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, and today was a perfect example of it. Ron was the life of the party, having fun with his peers, and she was sat in the corner playing nanny. Sure, he seemed to enjoy the time he spent with her as friends, but anything more…and that would require him to find her attractive, which was downright impossible, even given the limited amount she knew about his preferences. She was just…plain. And that was alright; she had enough self-confidence to know that she had nothing to apologize for when it came to simply being who she was. But that didn't mean that Ron would ever think of her as anything more than his bookish best friend.

But while she knew all of this intuitively, it didn't stop her from glaring as Lavender Brown began to make her way toward Ron. And it didn't stop her from having to suppress her disappointment and anger when Lavender smiled at him, undoubtedly showering him with the praise she, Hermione, had been too distracted to give him…

And before she quite knew what she was doing, Hermione had abandoned her spot on the couch and marched toward them, grabbing Ron's arm and dragging him away from Lavender without so much as a word to her indignant roommate.

"What?" Ron asked as she shoved him into the far corner of the room, tucked away by a window where they were out of sight of Lavender or anyone else. She rested her hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath from the adrenaline rush of such a bold move. "Have I done something wrong again?"

"No. I just wanted to tell you that you played a very good game today," she said, offering him a genuine smile. "Really well done, honestly."

"Thanks," Ron mumbled, rubbing his neck with the back of his hand. Hermione purposely did _not_ let her gaze fall to his forearms. Not at _all_. "So why'd you have to tell me that over here?"

"I don't like to apologize when other people can hear me," she replied cheekily, and he snorted. Maybe it wasn't hopeless, after all, she thought as she returned his hesitant grin. "I really am sorry," she continued. "I didn't…I just thought Harry had…"

"S'okay. I thought he did, too," Ron admitted. His hand was still resting on the back of his neck, and he looked so…well, he looked so _Ron_ , she supposed, though she wished she could find a better word for it. But there was nobody else like him, was there?

"Well, I wanted to make sure I was clear," Hermione said, licking her lips subconsciously. "I know you were nervous about the game, and I'm pleased to see you do so well."

"Well, thanks again," Ron said, a little more confidence in his tone this time. "Want a butterbeer?"

"I've had one already," she replied, glancing behind her to where Lavender was still standing with Parvati. The two were clearly talking about her; they weren't doing much to mask their glares. As petty and unfair as it was, Hermione knew she did _not_ want Ron anywhere near Lavender tonight. Unless…what if Ron _wanted_ to spend time with her? She supposed she ought to ask, but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to stand watching the two of them go at it. And just when Ron had agreed to go to Professor Slughorn's party with _her..._ but that was as friends, wasn't it? They hadn't really said…

"Oi, Hermione!" Ron called, waving a hand in front of her face. She batted it away promptly, but she still joined in his laughter. "What are you thinking so hard about? It's a Saturday; we've beat Slytherin! Let go and celebrate a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, blinking. "Yeah, you're right."

"Alright, so you'll have another butterbeer then?" Ron smirked, muttering a summoning charm and proudly handing her the bottle he procured. "C'mon, let's find Harry."

"Wait," Hermione said, grabbing his arm again before he could wander off. "Wait, Ron, erm…"

"What now?" he asked, though he appeared more amused than annoyed.

"Um…nothing. What were you talking to Lavender about?" she asked, wincing internally at just how jealous she sounded when she asked.

"Wha-oh, just now? I dunno, the game." Ron shrugged. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I didn't know the two of you talked much," Hermione said, rather loftily.

Ron shrugged again. "Guess not. Shall we find Harry?"

"Sure."

Hermione followed him through the common room, but her mind was far away again. Ron certainly didn't seem as though he regretted her pulling him away from Lavender, did he? So perhaps he didn't fancy her, at least not the way Hermione had momentarily feared. But what did _that_ mean? If he wasn't likely to see someone like her as anything more than a friend, but he didn't seem to care much for the company of a beautiful, fun girl like Lavender either…where did that leave him? He'd been attracted to Madam Rosmerta, she knew that much, but most of the boys were. Perhaps he simply wasn't interested in girls yet? No, that was silly, he was sixteen years old, of course he was…unless he wasn't interested in girls at all? No, she'd seen the way he looked at Fleur Delacour – he definitely liked girls.

But what bothered her the most was just how much she was thinking about it. It was maddening, really, because there were _far_ more important things to be on about, but all she could think about was the boy walking in front of her, whose arse looked _far_ too good in those jeans…

What was _wrong_ with her?

Then Ron came to an abrupt stop just before they reached the sofa, swiveling around to face her. She nearly walked into him, and he reached a hand out to steady her - which, to be frank, didn't help matters in her current state.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, peering over his shoulder to see Ginny and Dean standing rather close together in the corner opposite the one they'd just occupied. "Ah."

Ron grimaced. "Look, I know it's none of my business or whatever, but…"

"You'd rather not see it?" Hermione guessed, unable to keep a straight face.

"It's a bit strange," he admitted, taking another swig of his butterbeer. "She doesn't really get it, though; she just thinks I'm jealous that she managed to date somebody before I could." The tips of his ears burned bright red at this particular confession.

"Well, there's no point in dating unless there's somebody you like," Hermione said before she could stop herself.

"Right," Ron agreed, his blush becoming significantly deeper. "Right, well, there's also the small detail that there has to be somebody who likes _me_ , too, so…"

"Right," Hermione replied, fixing her gaze on her feet. "Did you see Harry?"

"No, not yet. Reckon he's in here somewhere, though, don't you think?" Ron shuffled his feet back and forth as he spoke, in a move that seemed to be subconscious. Hermione wondered vaguely if there was a part of him that _wasn't_ attractive, or if the butterbeer had just gone straight to her head.

"I'm sure he's somewhere. Do you want to keep looking?"

"Dunno. I'm fine here for now; he'll find us soon enough."

"Right."

They were quiet for a couple minutes, neither one looking at the other. In fact, Hermione looked almost anywhere _but_ Ron, from Ginny and Dean talking in the corner, to Lavender and Parvati, the former still appearing rather peeved, to Seamus and _Neville_ , of all people, downing another shot of firewhiskey.

"So-"

"Hey-"

They laughed a little, finally meeting each other's eyes briefly. "You go first," Hermione offered.

"Erm…I just wanted to say thanks. Again. For…you know, before. I know…well, I know you don't care much for Quidditch-"

"No, but I like watching you and Harry," Hermione replied brightly. "You're both very good."

"Yeah. Me and Harry, right," Ron said, looking down at his shoes again with a slight frown.

"And you especially!" she hurried to say, though she could have hit herself in the face afterward for how ridiculous it had sounded as she said it. _Try to be any more obvious, will you Granger?_

But Ron looked back at her with a small grin. "Why me especially?"

"Well, we barely see Harry but for a few minutes at the end, right? The Keeper constantly has to protect the goals; it's exciting, isn't it?" Hermione babbled, well aware that she didn't _really_ know what she was talking about. "So you're always…well, you're always doing something, and it's good."

"Always doing something," Ron repeated slowly. He chuckled and rolled his eyes, but it was clear he was pleased.

"I don't know," Hermione said, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "But it's not bad to watch when it's you playing, that's all I mean."

"Well, thanks," Ron repeated. "So, what'd you think Snape's essay? I know you've already done it."

But before she could smile, grateful that he'd changed the topic to something that interested her (even if he was sure to benefit from her knowledge as well), and discuss their homework for Monday, Hermione was distracted, once again, by her roommate, who had apparently decided to give it another go and was headed straight toward them.

Which, of course, simply wouldn't do.

Jealousy was an ugly trait. It really was. And there was nothing wrong with Lavender; she was a bit annoying from time to time, but she was a nice person, fun to be around most of the time…but in that moment, Hermione could think of no one she would less like to see. Maybe it wasn't fair of her, because maybe Lavender really _did_ like Ron, and maybe she didn't know that Hermione had for _years_ , and maybe the two of them would hit it off if they were given the chance, but if it was up to Hermione they weren't going to have one. Because jealousy was an ugly trait, but in that moment, Hermione Granger possessed it in abundance.

And so she did the only thing she could think to do. She kissed him, full on the mouth.

Now, Hermione had never kissed anybody before, and she certainly didn't know how to best go about it, but it had all happened so fast that her racing mind had come to a complete halt. She'd stopped thinking, stopped analyzing, and she'd done it. She'd closed her eyes, taken two small steps forward, and smashed her lips against his, standing on her tiptoes and grabbing the sides of his jumper for support.

She hadn't even had the good sense to be embarrassed by her actions before she felt one of Ron's hands against her back, his strong arm curling against her and drawing her closer. His mouth was moving just slightly against her own, and Merlin help her, she didn't care who was watching.

But she did care that she could hardly breathe, so after only a minute, she pulled back, gasping for air. Ron's eyes were wide open in shock, the hand on her back completely still.

"Um…" she rasped. "Um, I…"

"Yeah," Ron replied dazedly. "Right. Erm. Should we go?" His eyes darted about the room uncertainly. "I mean, if you want to…talk. Or do…whatever, I guess. Or not. But it's just, there's a lot of people, and…"

"Right!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as she finally glanced around the room and noticed how almost all of its occupants were watching them in some mix of amusement, annoyance, or, in Lavender's case, anger. "Of course, yeah, we can-"

"Only if you want to!" Ron was quick to add. "I mean, not that it's going to be…I just…well, you know…"

"I want to!" Hermione replied, finally gaining the presence of mind to smile reassuringly. "Not, well, but _this_ -"

"Yeah?" Ron still appeared to be in awe, his face lit up like Christmas had come six weeks early. "Okay, well let's…"

"Yeah," Hermione replied, reaching for his hand and leading him out of the common room before either one of them could stammer further. She valiantly ignored the wolf whistles coming from their classmates, and Ron didn't appear to notice. They had barely made it out into the corridor before he pulled her toward him and kissed her again, briefly this time, their lips barely making contact before he leaned back, laughing a little to himself.

"I…me, really? You…" he trailed off, his eyes shining.

"I could say the same to you," she replied, giggling. He nodded, dumbfounded, and simultaneously, they burst into laughter, the happiness pouring out of them, too abundant for just smiles. And then, their hands still joined together, they made their way down the corridor. If Hermione's memory served her correctly (which it usually did), there was an empty classroom just a short walk away…

 _-000-_

"D'you know how much I'd have lost my head if you'd done that?" Ron asked, gaping at her in awe as she finished her story.

"In a good way, I presume?" Hermione laughed as her husband nodded enthusiastically. "I actually thought about it, at the time - after you'd agreed to go to the party with me, anyway. But it was different the way it happened; you'd shut me out for _days_ before that."

"I know," Ron replied, reaching to grip her hand apologetically. "Jealousy doesn't suit either one of us, does it?"

"Well, in _my_ story, it did," Hermione pointed out.

"Which is probably the reason it's even more unbelievable than mine was," Ron observed, taking another large spoonful of ice cream from the tub. Hermione rolled her eyes, but her next scoop was only a little smaller.

"The fact of the matter is that if one of us was going to get our head on straight while we were still in school, it would have been me," she informed him, wagging her spoon to scold him before licking it clean.

"Are you so sure of that?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was _sure_ I'd have a chance to make a move at that party."

"Before you found out I'd kissed Viktor and decided to snog the first pretty girl that came on to you in retaliation," Hermione observed. "Or are we still operating in our dream world?"

Ron shrugged. "We don't have to. Suppose…suppose you had gone to the ball with Krum, and I _had_ found out about the snogging bit and reacted like an idiot, but you still pulled me away from Lavender that night."

"I don't know if I would have," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I thought that's where you wanted to be."

"Yeah, well, maybe _I_ did at the time, but that doesn't mean it _actually_ was," Ron replied. "But that's not the point. Suppose that it did happen that way."

"Have you got another story up your sleeve?" Hermione smirked. Though she was teasing, she really looked forward to seeing what he would come up with. Ridiculous though the scenarios were, it was sort of fun to consider what might have happened if the circumstances had been just slightly altered. Rising from her chair, she beckoned for Ron to come join her on their sofa. Their kitchen chairs weren't exactly the most comfortable place for extended storytelling.

Settling into the sofa, Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione as she leaned against him and rested her hand on his chest. "Are you ready to hear what _would_ have happened if we'd gone to the party together?" he asked, kissing her forehead gently.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied with a laugh, and Ron began to speak again.

 _-000-_

He wasn't really sure how he'd gotten to where he was, to be honest. He kind of lost it the minute Hermione came down the stairs to meet him in the common room in a peach-colored dress that flattered her very well, actually, not that he'd been able to find the words to tell her as much. Instead, he'd mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "you look nice," and she'd offered him a shy smile before they'd made their way to the party.

There was a lot of mingling, Ron had noticed. They were being introduced to important person after important person - or rather, _Hermione_ was being introduced to important people while he stood slightly behind her and nodded whenever Slughorn remembered he existed. Thankfully, after awhile the potions master had moved on to Harry, who'd ended up bringing a rather interestingly clad Luna Lovegood, and left Ron and Hermione to their own devices. Which, of course, involved Hermione stammering something about butterbeer and Ron wandering to find them a corner that wasn't _too_ secluded, because he was pretty sure this had crossed into "not a date" territory quite awhile ago.

He finally found a tiny table with only two chairs on the opposite side of the room from Slughorn. It was a bit cozy, he thought, but it'd have to do. When Hermione returned with their butterbeers a few minutes later, they managed to squeeze in together without sitting _too_ close, so Ron figured it could be counted as something of a victory - depending on who you were asking, anyway.

"So this is some party, isn't it?" Hermione asked, her voice just a bit too loud.

"It doesn't feel much like a party, does it?" Ron countered, gesturing toward their frazzled best friend and overenthusiastic professor.

"I believe they're more often called 'networking events,'" Hermione replied, smiling wryly. "We met a couple of interesting people, at least."

"S'pose so," Ron said, shrugging. "Thanks for inviting me, anyway."

"Sure."

The silence stretched just long enough to be considered awkward, and they both took a long sip from their drinks to fill it. Ron could have kicked himself; it was the closest he'd ever come to going out with Hermione, and he was blowing it. But what would he even do, if it was a real date? What were people _supposed_ to do on dates?

"Erm," he tried. "So. Excited for the holidays?" He winced. If it was already "not a date," he was pushing it even further toward "awkward small talk between acquaintances" - which was ridiculous, anyway, because this was _Hermione_. His best friend, to whom he could talk about almost anything, but she'd put a bit of potion in her hair and worn a pretty dress and suddenly he was rehashing a conversation they'd already had weeks ago.

"I suppose so, yes," Hermione replied. Ron could have hugged her for playing along with his dismal choice of topic. "I'll talk to my parents about letting me come to the Burrow at New Year's, like I said, but it'll be nice to see them for Christmas."

"Yeah. Well, I hope you come for New Year's. Fred and George usually have some fireworks or something up their sleeves," Ron offered, grinning at her.

"And how does your mum feel about that?" Hermione asked, mercifully smiling back.

"She doesn't mind, as long as they're far enough from the house." He could feel another silence coming on, so he quickly changed the subject. "Who'd McLaggen end up taking?"

In retrospect, maybe he should have thought the subject through before changing it.

But Hermione looked only mildly annoyed as she pointed to the opposite corner of the room, where McLaggen was standing very close to a fifth year Ravenclaw under the mistletoe. Ron looked away quickly; he wasn't particularly in the mood to watch that arsehole snog anybody.

Which brought his thoughts back to Hermione. Hermione, who had snogged Viktor Krum, but had still invited _him_ to a party. And Merlin, he'd like to get her under the mistletoe himself, but it was like Ginny said - he'd never snogged _anybody_ before, and she'd snogged an international Quidditch player. So even if she gave him a chance to do the "more than friends" thing, he had an inkling it would last all of about eight seconds before she laughed in his face and said they'd be better off not going down that road.

"He almost asked me tonight," Hermione said conversationally, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Cormac did, I mean.

"Really?" Ron's interest was piqued, and he appraised McLaggen again, who had now begun to kiss the girl he was with in a way that looked rather disgusting, Ron reckoned, not that he really knew what it was _supposed_ to look like.

"Yes, I'd say he dodged a hex there," Hermione remarked, grimacing as she followed his line of sight. "I'd never have gone with him, of course, but it was a bit easier to say 'no' given I'd already asked you. He's not the most reasonable of men, I daresay."

"Reckon you're having a better time with me?" Ron teased, nudging her foot with his own bravely. It was the boldest he'd been on their "not a date," anyway.

"I'd say so," Hermione replied, looking rather more pleased than Ron expected as she nudged his foot back. Her cheeks flushed, and she took another sip of her butterbeer. "And now you see that you aren't missing out on much when it comes to these, right?"

"S'pose so," Ron admitted. "It's not like I want to come regularly."

"You'd just like if Slughorn actually knew your name?" Hermione guessed.

Ron shrugged, setting his gaze on the table. "It's not like there are that many people in our class, y'know? And you'd think he'd at least get the surname right more often; it's obvious I'm related to Ginny."

"Maybe if you answer more questions in class," Hermione suggested tentatively.

Ron shook his head. "Even if I raised my hand, he'd call on you anyway. Who wouldn't?"

"Professor Snape, probably, if he could avoid it," Hermione replied.

"Well, he's a bit of an arsehole, isn't he?" Ron pointed out.

"He's still on our side."

"Doesn't make him less of an arsehole."

Hermione was clearly repressing a smile as she replied diplomatically, "No comment."

Ron couldn't help but laugh. "You know it's true."

"And you know I won't say it quite like that," Hermione countered.

"I dunno; Harry and I are doing our best to corrupt you." Ron grinned as Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "And it's you, so our corruption is really just pushing you to the realm of normalcy."

"Are you saying I'm not normal?" Hermione asked, feigning anger even as her smile began to grow.

"Nope," Ron declared. "But that's alright, I guess. We like you anyway." And then he was blushing again. Bloody brilliant. But Hermione just smiled and nudged his foot again before finishing off her butterbeer.

They settled into a comfortable silence, watching the partygoers around them make various degrees of fools out of themselves and commenting whenever they saw fit. It wasn't much different from sitting in the common room, really, which Ron supposed was a good thing. Change things around too much, and he might do something stupid and muck up any slim chance he might have before he was confident enough to give it a go the way he ought, the way she deserved.

But, of course, fate never seemed to be on his side when it came to this sort of thing.

"Erm," Hermione said suddenly, about ten minutes into their people watching session. "I think the mistletoe moves."

"It does _what_?"

"It moves, see; it isn't in that corner anymore," she said, gesturing toward where they'd seen McLaggen earlier.

"Where's it now?" Ron asked. His face was burning brighter than ever now, because he reckoned he already knew the answer.

"Well," Hermione replied, biting her lip, "that's the thing, isn't it?" She moved her eyes directly above their heads, and Ron's eyes followed to settle upon the blasted bush itself.

"Oh," he managed to say. "Erm…"

"We don't have to," Hermione assured him hurriedly. "I mean, if you don't want, it's just a silly tradition-"

But before Ron could talk himself out of it, he leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her soft cheek. He was positive his ears would actually burn off his head when he pulled back, but she appeared to be more surprised than disgusted. "That satisfy the tradition?" he asked with more bravery than he really felt.

"Well, it's moving away now," Hermione observed breathlessly, giggling in a way he hadn't heard since her ridiculous crush on Lockhart second year.

So that was a good sign, right? He wished briefly that she'd gone ahead and written that book about the way girls think, because though she looked rather pleased with his actions, he had no _idea_ where he was supposed to go from there. They weren't even on a real date…were they?

Maybe he should ask. He'd had enough butterbeer that doing so didn't seem like the _worst_ idea…but then again, did he want her to think of this as a date if her only other date had been with Krum?

Then she interrupted his thoughts again, her voice unnaturally high this time. "Ron, do you think this counts as…as a date?"

Or she could just do it for him. What was new? Of course he was too much of a coward to bring it up, so she had to do it herself. Certainly _Krum_ hadn't done that much…and shit, she was looking at him expectantly. She'd asked a question, hadn't she?

"Um," he said intelligently, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and staring down at the table. "Do _you_ think it is?" Brilliant answer. He was just on his game tonight, wasn't he?

"I don't know." Hermione sounded rather more disappointed than he thought she would be. He must've blown it again…but how? Did she want him to…oh, what the hell. He might as well; there was no way he could screw it up any more than he already had.

"Well, I reckon it's our decision." That was about as bold as he could be, given the present circumstances. But when he finally gathered the courage to look at her, she was smiling, so it must have been enough.

"So what's your verdict?" she asked softly.

Of course, Hermione wasn't going to let him off the hook. But did he _really_ want to be the one to say…she'd dated _Viktor sodding Krum_. "Whatever…whatever you think…" he trailed off, gesturing vaguely around them. "I mean, I quite…but if…well, if you want it to be."

"I _was_ the one who asked you," Hermione reminded him, biting her lip again when she'd finished. Again, she looked as though she was waiting on him. He simply gaped at her. How much clearer could he have been?

Well, that wasn't a fair question. He could have been _much_ clearer. But he'd kissed her! On the cheek, sure, but it was something. But then again, she _had_ been the one to ask him here in the first place. So did that make them even? And didn't that mean it was her turn?

But she had been the one to ask if it was a date, so perhaps it was his turn to answer.

Whatever the case, his head was starting to hurt, so finally, in what was more a gesture of defeat than of any sort of bravery, he blurted, "Look, I like you, alright? In the fancying sort of way. So whatever you think about that…well, it's your turn now. But you should just tell me, so that I can go drink enough to forget this ever happened."

He could hardly bring himself to look at her in the brief silence that followed, but when he finally chanced it, she was beaming brighter than he'd ever seen her do before. "You really…fancy me?" she asked, giggling a little as she said it.

"You don't need to laugh about it," he said uncertainly, though the little knowledge he had about girls was telling him she was _not_ doing it in a bad way.

Luckily, Hermione was quick to confirm this suspicion. "No! No, I feel the same way!" She beamed again, then looked down at her hands. "So I guess this is a date, then?"

But Ron was stuck on the part where she said she felt the same way he did. He'd hoped, but he'd never thought… His eyes were wide as he watched her shift in her seat, still giggling a little as she played with her hands. "Y-yeah," he stammered. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Alright then." Hermione stood, then extended her hand to him. He stumbled to his feet as quickly as he could and grasped it like a lifeline - because he was holding her hand. They were holding hands. She fancied him, and she wanted to hold his hand, and her smile was probably one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. "Shall we find Harry?" she asked. "Not that I want him along on our date, of course, I just feel bad leaving him with Professor Slughorn so long. But then, once we've checked in on him…maybe we can get another drink?"

Ron nodded, dazed, because he reckoned that he would probably follow her to the ends of the earth and back if she asked him to.

They couldn't find Harry; Professor Slughorn informed them that he had already left before introducing Hermione to someone else from the Ministry. But it all felt a little less monotonous this time, because Hermione was _still_ holding his hand in hers. And she didn't let go, not when they got that second drink, and not when they ducked out of the party and made their way back to Gryffindor tower. They weren't talking much, but every so often, their eyes would meet and they would blush, laughing a little at how silly they were being. Ron supposed there was a more sophisticated way to deal with the aftermath of their revelations, but he didn't think he was capable of doing much more than smiling at the moment anyway. He still wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't dreamed the whole thing.

Hermione slowed to a stop before they rounded the corner to the Fat Lady's portrait. She turned to face him and took his other hand in hers, then took a step closer so that they were standing less than a foot apart. "I had a good time tonight," she said quietly, looking up at him hopefully.

"So did I," Ron replied, though the words were rather choked - because she wanted him to kiss her, didn't she? Merlin, he was a mess tonight, and he was fairly certain he was going to miss. Viktor Krum surely hadn't missed, but Viktor Krum had several years on him. And Viktor Krum probably hadn't had _his_ first kiss with somebody that mattered so much.

And for just a moment, Ron was jealous not of Krum, but of Hermione. She'd already done this once before, so she didn't need to be _nearly_ as nervous as he did about messing up, did she?

But still Hermione's voice was rather breathy as she asked, "Would you want to do it again sometime? Maybe without Professor Slughorn?"

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I reckon it'd be better without him, eh?"

"I reckon," Hermione repeated softly, taking yet another step closer to him. "I don't know when it'll be safe enough to go to Hogsmeade, but…"

"Uh huh." Ron gulped; she was so close now that the details of her face were starting to blur - or maybe that was just how unfocused _he_ felt, it was hard to be sure…but at any rate, now was the time. He closed the small gap carefully so that his lips brushed hers gently. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sensation, and her mouth seemed to curve into a smile against his.

It only lasted a few seconds, but Ron reckoned he might have passed out if it had gone on much longer. And Hermione was smiling when they broke apart. He'd kissed Hermione, and she hadn't hated it. Viktor Krum appeared to be about the furthest thing from her mind, and the Bulgarian bon-bon, as it were, was barely in the outskirts of his. And when Hermione leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth one more time - well, he found that the past didn't really matter one bit.

"I suppose we ought to get to sleep," she murmured quietly. Ron nodded, unable to speak; he might accidentally say something stupid about how pretty her eyelashes were, because that was about all that was on his mind at that particular moment.

They bid their good nights at the foot of the girls' staircase, and he gave her a quick hug before she walked up. He might have chanced another kiss, but there were several people sitting around the fireplace. What they had shared out in the corridor may have been chaste, but Ron reckoned it was about the most intimate moment of his life, and he certainly wasn't about to share it with anybody else. Instead, he held the memory close to his heart, replaying it in his mind over and over until he fell asleep, wondering if she was doing the same.

 _-000-_

"Ron, that was one of the cheesiest endings I've ever heard," Hermione declared when he finished the story.

"Well, we're talking about some universe in which I _didn't_ act like a complete arse when I was sixteen, so I figured we ought to go all out," Ron pointed out, poking her side gently.

"Fair enough," Hermione laughed. "But it was a bit cuter than we normally are, don't you think?"

"What are you talking about? My mum thinks we're adorable." Ron pouted, and she twisted around to kiss it away.

"Your mum also thinks Harry and Ginny are adorable," Hermione reminded him.

Ron grimaced. "As much as I like them together, I wouldn't go that far. They're more like a good team than an adorable couple, aren't they?"

"I'd say they're both. Just like us, actually." Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron pulled a face, but she was still smiling. As much as Ron had grown up and matured for the better, he never failed to remind her every day of the ridiculous seventeen year old boy she fell in love with, and she wouldn't have it any other way. "At any rate, my story is still more believable than yours."

"I beg to differ!" Ron protested. "You said yourself you might not have had the guts to pull me away from Lavender."

"Alright, so let's suppose you did still go out with her in our scenario," Hermione suggested. "If I still went to the ball with Viktor, and you still went out with Lavender, do you still think there's a chance we would have got together sooner?"

"Absolutely," Ron replied. "Do you know how many times I almost kissed you the year we were on the run?"

"Do you know how many times I almost kissed _you_ during the end of our sixth year?" Hermione countered, reaching for one of his hands so that she could lace their fingers together.

"Really?

"Really really."

"Alright, well, it's your turn anyway," Ron prompted, squeezing their joined hands. "Tell me a story, baby."

"Only if you agree not to call me 'baby,'" Hermione replied cheekily. "Are you ready for my story to blow yours out of the water?"

"We'll just see about that," Ron grinned, rubbing his thumb against the palm of her hand.

"Okay. My story begins a week after we won the Quidditch Cup, just after Harry and Ginny started dating," Hermione began, leaning back into Ron's embrace as she set the scene.

 _-000-_

It had been a lovely day, filled with the kind of sunshine that made the lake glitter and the grass soften, and a few hours of reading outside had turned into sharing the sofa with Ron as the last rays cast shadows across the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione found herself alone with him more often than usual, lately, now that Harry and Ginny had a reason to spend time by themselves. Though he always cringed a bit when they would slink off together, Hermione couldn't help but look forward to the moments she got to spend with Ron. They'd wasted months not talking at all this year, for reasons that in retrospect mattered very little, and she was eager to soak up every moment they could find.

Ever since they were eleven, Hermione had cherished the time they spent as a twosome. They bickered less when no one else was watching, and when they did, it never really escalated. It was hard to explain, really, but they could talk about anything when there was no one to answer to but each other.

Today, they were talking about breakfast. Tomorrow's breakfast, to be precise, because dinner had ended an hour ago and Ron was hungry. It was ridiculous, yes, but Hermione couldn't help but smile affectionately as she listened to him describe, in tantalizing detail, exactly what he was going to devour first thing in the morning.

And then her thoughts wandered, of course, to the freckles on his hands as he used them to emphasize his point, the light in his eyes as they met hers, the loose thread on the hem of his jumper... how his hands would feel in hers, how his eyes would look after kissing her, how his woolen jumper might scratch her hands as she tugged it up and off…

She blushed – her thoughts had been wandering that direction more often than usual lately, and it was no surprise. Ever since he'd broken it off with Lavender (and a bit before, if she was being honest), Hermione's imagination had gone into overdrive… because she couldn't be imagining it all, could she? The way he looked at her was just so _different_ now, since they'd started talking again. Like there was something simmering underneath the surface – an energy of sorts, reflected perfectly in her own heart. An experiment in just how far tension could build before it snapped…

"Hermione? You're spacing."

She blinked until Ron's amused face fell back into focus. "No, I was listening. You were on about eggs."

"I'd moved on to bacon, actually," he corrected with a laugh. "Thrilling, I know."

"I suppose I spaced a bit," she admitted, blushing – but he assuaged her worries quickly.

"You've been known to do so," he teased. "A brain as brilliant is yours doesn't need to hear my ode to bacon for the fifty-second time."

"Sure it does," she said, unable to hide her smile. "I've missed your food talk, these past few months."

"No way," Ron rolled his eyes. "You're lying through your teeth."

"Am not!" she argued. "No one else I know is quite so effusive in their praise for meat."

"Ugh, don't phrase it like that next time," Ron chortled. Hermione winced – she'd been so distracted, she hadn't even picked up on the double entendre. And to have Ron call her out on it, no less… she'd have to make a swift recovery.

"Just accept that I've missed you, alright?" But that didn't make it much better, did it, coming out and saying what she meant as she had? That was something they didn't do, something they avoided at all costs, operating instead in vague statements that drove her mad trying to decipher whether there was a chance, a possibility…

But Ron ended that line of thinking before it had the chance to flourish. "Well, I didn't _not_ miss staying at the library til all hours while you picked up just _one_ last book."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment," Hermione said, and their eyes met with another smile.

"You should," Ron said… _murmured_? "No one else I know is quite so good at forcing me to study."

"That one's a bit harder to construe positively." Hermione shifted on the sofa, bringing her feet up beneath her.

"You bring out the best in me; how's that?" Ron said, his cheeks flushing.

Hermione sucked in a breath; and there they were, again, somewhere between friendship and something else entirely, and no way to tell for sure… "Better. I laugh a lot less when you're not around."

"What, Harry not a bucket of joy lately?"

"Well, _lately_ lately is a different story, I suppose," Hermione remarked carefully. "This winter, a bit less so."

Ron sighed, letting his breath out slowly. "It's weird, y'know, since it's Ginny," he admitted quietly, shifting down the sofa so they were sitting a bit closer. "But you're right. It's different, now. In a good way."

"It's a refreshing kind of different," Hermione agreed.

"Yeah," Ron's eyes met hers again. "We don't get a lot of that, lately."

"Some of it, though."

"Some of it."

She could hardly breathe; their arms were resting just close enough that she could feel it without touching, and they hadn't looked away, not yet, and usually the moment would have been over just before _that_ point, _this_ point, that lifted her out of her element and into a place not altogether unpleasant, but certainly uncomfortable, certainly unlike anything she'd felt before. The point that made her feel like she _was_ enough, despite everything that had come between them this winter.

The point that made her say, breathlessly, "I'm sorry."

" _You_ are?" Ron was definitely murmuring now, and it made her hair stand on end.

"Yes. I shouldn't have let your decisions come between us," she admitted, measuring each word carefully.

"My _bad_ decisions," Ron amended.

"I'm trying not to pass judgement," Hermione said diplomatically, but they both smiled again.

"I…" Ron gulped. "It didn't… it's okay that it bothered you," he said finally. "I mean, I…"

"I think I might know what you mean," Hermione said quietly.

"It would have bothered me," Ron continued, and he finally looked away, gazing into the fire instead. "If it had been reversed, I mean."

"It would have bothered you if _I'd_ dated Lavender?"

"Well, it would have bothered me you hadn't told me you liked girls, in that case. I like to think we trust each other enough to share things like that."

"I do. Trust you, I mean," Hermione said seriously.

"I trust you, too," Ron said immediately. "More than anybody, honestly. Even when we're fighting, I never… I'll never not trust you, you know?"

"I'll always trust you, too," Hermione replied. Was she imagining things, or was his face a couple inches closer than it had been the last time they'd locked eyes? "I have since the second you knocked that troll out with its own club."

Ron chuckled. "It's strange, isn't it, how trivial that seems now?"

"Fighting a fully grown mountain troll? Hardly trivial," Hermione pointed out, but she took the chance to nudge his arm and chuckle back.

"I'd still rather relive that experience a thousand times than face whatever's coming, to be honest," Ron admitted quietly. "Not a very Gryffindor thing to say, is it?"

"It's an honest thing to say," Hermione replied kindly. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree."

"Strange, isn't it?" Ron said. "We'd both follow Harry to the ends of the Earth and back, right?"

"Obviously."

"But sometimes I wish I didn't have to."

"But that doesn't mean you'd choose differently," Hermione pointed out.

"Obviously," Ron confirmed. "That's strange, too. We're the only ones that will ever _get it_ , you know?"

"But he's the only one who will ever _get it_ where he's concerned," Hermione pointed out. "A much worse place to be, objectively, but…"

"He also doesn't know what it's like to be in our position," Ron finished.

"All he needs to know is that we'll be there."

"Exactly."

They sat in companionable silence a moment, both of their eyes sliding back toward the fire, their arms still brushing just slightly.

"I'm sorry, too," Ron said finally, not taking his eyes off the flames.

"Doesn't matter now."

"Matters that you know.

"I know." And then she kissed him on the cheek, before she could think too hard about it. "I know _you_."

"Hermione." He wasn't looking at her, but his voice was hoarse, his jaw taut as he gazed at the fire.

"Ron," she echoed.

"I…" he looked at her again, desperate. "The war…"

"What about it?"

He paused, still searching her eyes. "It's not the only thing that scares me."

Her breath caught. "I know what you mean."

And once again, no one was looking away.

But this time, she wasn't waiting.

"Kiss me," she said – once again, before she could think about it. Because thinking, where Ron was concerned, just made things all the more complicated.

"Are you sure?" It was like he was caught between a growl and a gulp.

"I'll do it if you don't," she managed – but she could hardly finish the sentence, because they leaned forward at the very same moment, and…

Everything made sense. She'd always wondered if it would be strange, kissing him after so many years, but it wasn't, not at all. It was just as she'd thought it would be, but a thousand times better, all at once – it was just _Ron,_ and her – just them, together, just as they'd always been, but…on _fire_. And oh, when he pulled her closer, it was just the right kind of different.

 _-000-_

"That was almost realistic," Ron remarked when she'd finished, kissing the tips of her fingers. "Right up until the kissing part."

"I was close, that night," she admitted, because her story wasn't entirely fiction.

"Like I said, I was close a million times," Ron replied, squeezing her round the waist. "I would've kissed you at Dumbledore's funeral if it was even half appropriate."

"And I could have kissed you that night you held me, after I'd sent my parents away," Hermione recalled. "Or when you came back after the mission to get Harry from Privet Drive."

"I kicked myself for months over missing the opportunity at Bill and Fleur's wedding," Ron admitted, turning his nose toward her hair.

"I wanted to a thousand times in that tent," Hermione replied. "And when you came back, it was all I could think about, and I sort of hated myself for it."

"Not as much as I hated me," Ron remarked darkly, and Hermione kissed his cheek to remind him all had been forgiven years ago. "I wanted to a thousand times at Shell Cottage, but…"

"There was too much going on," Hermione finished. "Always, there was too much going on."

"So naturally, we picked a literal battle." Ron threaded his fingers through hers and rested them atop her knee. "Fitting."

"I think the thousands of almost-kisses made the actual thing just that much better," Hermione said.

"We needed those almost-kisses," Ron said wisely. "So that we were ready for all the real ones."

"Those should have been our wedding vows." Hermione breathed, twisting so she could look at him properly, her eyes twinkling.

"Those aren't vows," Ron argued. "C'mon, love, you're s'posed to be the smart one."

"Fine. I vow to remember where we came from," Hermione retorted. "That fits, yes?"

"I dunno what you have against our real wedding vows."

"Not a thing, if I actually remembered them," Hermione admitted. "I was too busy looking at you to think about what I was saying."

"See, that's the real statement."

"You're talking out of your arse."

"Best not disrupt the theme of the evening," Ron remarked, kissing her ear before pushing her hips until she hopped off the sofa. He followed quickly, his hands scarcely leaving her waist. "Are you feeling any better, love?" he murmured in her ear as he steered her toward the hallway.

"This is why I married you," she replied simply as they arrived at their bedroom. "Because you love me, no matter what the circumstance. And you'll be as ridiculous as you need to be to make me smile."

"Don't get sappy on me now," Ron said sarcastically. "Besides, I'd like to think there's another perk to being married to me." He rested his chin on her shoulder, nodding toward their bed.

"Making up for the years of almost-kisses, obviously," Hermione said, swiveling in his arms and kissing him with all she had. Because every one of the mistakes they'd made in their lives had led them to this impossibly possible moment, to this moment that found perfection in its flaws. Besides – the real thing was always, _always_ better than the script. Because he was Ron, and she was Hermione, and the _when_ or the _how_ hardly mattered in retrospect. In every moment, and in every universe: She loved him, and he loved her. They only needed to choose each other – and they _had_. They _did_. They always would.


End file.
